Resident Evil: Revisitations Updated
by inuyasha401
Summary: To be a survivor of the Raccoon City massacre...a blessing or curse? Kai Hunter survived the disaster, but life isn't all perfect again. He must endure the terrorizing dreams, as well as this strange woman who has an uncomfortable interest in him.


The man sat, lying to himself about his life, mostly in prayer that everything was just a dream--nothing more; and in hopes the dream would instantaneously disappear. The bath water was hot, far beyond discomfort. The woman who dumped him in the tub had explained that the heat would prevent any further effects that the virus may have had in his body.

'Why am I here? Why did this happen to me? Why am I still alive?'

His right hand latched on to an object, instinctively projecting the bath sponge across the bathroom. A sickening 'splat' echoed against the white tiled walls, emanating from where the sponge stuck near the door. Rattling of metal cookware was heard from the room outside, followed by the familiar metal clang of silverware being dropped. The evidence slid quickly under the bathroom door. He stared at the knife for a brief moment, then reached out to slide it across the cold porcelain floor. He lifted the blade and repositioned it in his right hand.

"Life. What does it mean exactly? Why am I cursed with it while a million others had it revoked? Why wasn't it me?"

The grip on his knife, blade posing as a mirror to his left leg, tightened. He stared at the tool as though transferring all his energy to the inanimate object. The knife was dull, nearly flat in fact, except for one or two serrations from prolonged use. His grip loosened due to thought and dropped into the water.

The amplified sound of metal scratching porcelain startled him out of his stupor. He retrieved the knife, now as hot as the water, positioned it as though he were to attack, then made one full-force, curved jab toward his left knee. All sound ceased as his adrenaline increased to a point near panic. The knife, lodged half an inch into the tissue just below his knee, immediately had crimson fluid gushing from the wound. His blood trickled down his leg and into the water. Immediately, the bathroom was filled with the smell of iron and another unidentifiable repulsive odor.

There was no pain. No feeling whatsoever; simply just awe. His eyes drifted from the heavily contaminated light red bathwater to the assailing weapon. The knife had not moved from its position in his shin, nor did he have the energy nor wish to change that fact. He began to feel again, but only in the form of heavy nausea. He leaned forward in hopes to quell the ill feeling, but instead released a heavy liquid from deep in his stomach. His eyes opened, quickly closing again upon the sight of a pinkish-green solution, adding to the crimson gel in the water. He repeated at the mere thought of the water, or maybe the thought that he was _bathing_ in this concoction.

Hearing unnatural noises emanating from the bathroom, the attending nurse instinctively unhooked her key ring and flung the door open. Blanching, she desperately shuffled him out of the tub, redirecting a trash canister to follow in front on the man. Another flow of pure, thick blood exited his mouth. Placing him on the edge of his bed, she wiped his mouth and whipped out some sort of medication and a syringe. She quickly, yet artfully, filled the syringe and thrusted the needle into his forearm. The cerulean liquid disappeared into his bloodstream. He could feel the liquid circulating through his body, calming his nerves, his thoughts, and eventually his motors. Relaxation at last.

* * *

An abnormal sound emitted from outside.

'Fucking neighbors.' He returned his gaze to the television.

A young girl appeared at the stairwell. Her facial expression was uncomfortable.

"Ohh, Aly, did you have a bad dream? C'mere."

She approached, holding tightly to her teddy bear. "I heard something weird and looked out the window and I saw a man walking funny in the yard. Do you know him?"

'Shit, Friday night. Drunks everywhere. I hope Adrian gets home soon.'

"It's just the neighbors having . . . fun in their own ways. Don't worry about anything sweetheart." He kissed her forehead, creating a smile of comfort in her eyes. "Go on back to bed."

"Okay daddy." She hurried back up the stairs.

Kai heard the upstairs bedroom door latch. In his own curiosity, he rose and pulled back the drapes of the drive window. Three shadows were, indeed, wavering back and forth, slowly trudging their way toward the front lawn, or even the door, he wasn't sure. He stepped over to the mahogany door and unlocked it, peering out onto Virginia Avenue. The figures ceased movement, and appeared to stare at Kai.

He peeked back inside the house ensuring nobody else was watching him. He returned his view to the outdoors and loudly warned, "Look guys, get off my property or I'll have to call the police, so scram."

Branches shuffled within ten feet to the right of Kai. He jumped, completely unaware that something had been that close to him. He flipped on the porch light and saw a grotesque human figure, now rapidly moving toward the front door. The light seemed to attract the other figures in the yard, as they turned and also briskly moved toward the porch.

Kai instinctively slammed the door, latching all three locks in one swift motion. He returned to the drapes, peeled them open, and yelled in fright. A man, skin pale as baby powder, had his face smashed against the pane, hands flush on the window, as though reaching for Kai. A red substance around his mouth was smearing on the window with his erratic movements.

The figure's eyes were golfballs. No, iris, pupil, or form whatsoever. It was almost as though the eyes were completely reversed in its head, yet there was a knowledge that it was somehow looking directly at Kai, with what seemed to be ravenous hunger.

Kai's heart rate began a rapid crescendo. He screamed through the glass "Get the hell away from my house! I'm calling the police!" He rushed to the kitchen and grabbed the wall phone, briskly dialing 9-1-1. He watched the unmoving figure from the doorway dividing the kitchen from the living room.

The ringing ceased and the line became active. "All available dispatchers are currently handling other emergencies. Please hold for the next available dispatcher. If this is an immediate life-threatening emergency, please proceed to your nearest local hospital emergency room. Your approximate wait time is sixteen hours and forty minutes."

'What the _fuck_? Sixteen hours? Something's way wrong.'

A sweet voice broke the silence. "Daddy? Who you talking to? Are you okay?"

He hung up the phone. "Aly, go get your brother up. Tell him daddy said so. I have to call Mommy really quick."

"Okay . . . are you sure you're okay?" she sounded highly concerned.

He grabbed up the phone again and started dialing his wife." Yes, Aly, I'm fine. We're fine. I just want to see what Mommy's doing. Go get your brother and tell him to come here."

She disappeared upstairs. The phone continued to ring, making him impatiently worried. A click. "Kai? I told you I was going to the Alley with Amy--"

"You need to get home. Now. Wait . . . no, don't come home, go to my office building. Wait for me there. You have the key, right?"

"Yes, but why? What's going on? Are you alright? Talk to me, Kai!" Desperation entered her words. "Are the kids okay?"

"They're fine, just go. Trust me, baby. I'll explain later, just be--"

A crash from the front room sounded throughout the entire house. Kai leaned back and saw the large glass window was now in hundreds of shards spread across the floor. Shuffling could be heard from behind the television positioned in front of the window.

He averted his attention back to his wife. "Just go! And go quick. Something's happening and I don't fucking know what. I love you, now go!"

He returned the phone to the hook. The children bounded down the stairs, stopping halfway. They stared at the glass in the room, mouths gaping with the sudden feeling of danger. Kai's son, Terry, shooed his younger sister behind him on the landing. "Dad? Who is that?" His eyes motioned to the figure slowly scrambling toward the stairwell.

"Stay. Don't move." He rushed across the family room, cutting his bare feet on the numerous glass fragments scattered across the carpet, and into the den. He dug some keys out of an urn on an end table and searched for the key to the shotgun case. He shoved the key into the keyhole, flung open the door, and snatched the Remington 12-gauge from the cabinet. He flung out the lower ammunition drawer and grabbed a case of shells, loading the weapon in desperation. A scream emerged from the front room.

* * *


End file.
